


preserve.

by krysalla



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Death, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:34:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krysalla/pseuds/krysalla
Summary: It's not supposed to end like this.





	preserve.

**Author's Note:**

> So, maybe I am LATE. By a few years but el oh el!

He’s supposed to take you out tonight to celebrate that you have finally gotten into the RN program you had worked your ass off to get into and his transfer. Five years of balancing school, family, and work have finally paid off.

Mike hasn’t called yet. Instead, you get a call from an unknown number and you let your phone ring as you prepare for tonight, carefully doing your makeup and setting your hair just right, hoping it would be enough to grab Mike’s attention the way you wanted to. The number calls once more. You let it go to voicemail. It rings again and you finally cave, snapping a quick hello before your blood runs cold at the voice on the line. That’s his lieutenant.

You barely even processed what she said had happened, only taking in the name of the hospital and throwing on dirty sweats and a ratty tee shirt. You don’t even waste time trying to put on decent shoes, just slip into flip flops and grab your keys and wallet.

Your makeup is half done, missing your mascara, lipstick, and blush, you are sure you look like crazy, but only one thing is on your mind. Mike. Your mind flashes with memories of him, pulling you around in a red wagon down the sidewalk, holding him through his first break up, Mike being your date for prom when yours bailed on you the day before the dance, studying for SATs together, his first deployment, calming your nerves through clinicals.

The hospital waiting room is filled to the brim with cops and you only recognize a small handful, the ones that work directly with Mike. You can hardly remember their names at the moment.

His father smiles at you weakly when you walk past the waiting room and then doubling back after seeing his face.

“Please, tell me he’s okay,” you’re breathless and ragged, huffing and puffing trying to take in a breath, but your lungs won’t allow it to happen. Your throat is tight and William’s hand on your shoulder calms you down, the gentle way he rubs his thumb into your muscle. You may have your problems with him and the way he treats Mike, but you know he cares.

“He’s fine, just got out of surgery. You know he’s a fighter kiddo.”

You nod, smiling weakly and catch your breath. That’s good, he just needs to make it through the next day, “Can I see him?”

“He’s still out, but of course. I think he’d like to see you. He’s excited about tonight, talked Olivia’s ear off about it.”

You feel heat spread through your chest and cheeks.

“His fiancee should be here soon. She got on the first flight out of Chicago.”

Your heart drops and your mouth goes dry, heat replaced by something you can’t place, “His fiancee?”

William nodded, “Yeah, Alice. Sweet girl.”

You blanch. He never told you about a fiancee. You were his best friend and he didn’t tell you. How many times had you seen him in the past year? Month? Even the last week? And he’d never told you, never let on about a girlfriend, let alone a fiancee.

“Okay, uh, I’m gonna go sit with him.”

* * *

 

It’s easy to fret when you have no control, no system or method. You’re usually the one who takes care of patients, not frets. You feel helpless as you tuck and untuck the blankets around him. You itch to just sit and wait for him to come to, but the itch to do something, anything to take your mind off of the fact that your best friend and maybe the love of your life is in a hospital and that he didn’t tell you about one of the biggest milestones for him.

You’re angry at him, but it’s overturned quickly with worry.

You watch his vitals on the machine, the numbers dropping or rising by one digit every once in a while. He’s steady though, that’s good. You try to push out how quickly that can turn around, how fast things can change in the blink of an eye, you’ve seen it more times than you’d like to admit.

He groans and smacks his lips, drawing your attention to him.

Your eyes go wide and you have to stop yourself from sobbing. He’s been shot twice before this and a cynical part of you had said third time's the charm. You hate that you thought that, what if he did die. That would be on you. You thought it so it would happen. Mike’s always teased you for your belief in jinxes, but you knew they’d come true, even small things like traffic on the road.

He wakes up and smiles at you despite how tired he looks, skin pale and clammy and a sheen layer of sweet building around his hairline.

“Hey,” he croaks out, reaching out a hand for you.

At first, you want to balk and pull away, but you can’t do that to him, not with his father next to you and not with a bullet hole in his gut.

“Hey, Mikey,” you smooth back his sweat-slicked hair and smile, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he mumbles, eyes closing and thumb stroking across the top of your knuckles, “I like it when you call me Mikey. Hate when anyone else does.”

You sniff, “I know. A fiancee? You never told me.”

“‘M sorry. I was gonna tell you over dinner.”

Your stomach drops, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can tell me all about her when you get better yeah? I better get an invite to the wedding.”

“Course you will. Can’t get married without my best friend.”

You nod and press a quick kiss to his forehead, “Rest up. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Mike smiles again, eyes glassy and far off, “Love ya.”

“Love you too,” you gulp and fall back against the plastic back of your chair. It squeaks against your movement. You need something to focus on, if you sit here all night you’ll go out of your mind.

* * *

 

She looks sweet and almost too much the kind of girl you imagine Mike to be with. You don’t fit that though. You don’t have the traditional girl next door look, the sweet voice, softness, and the All American Pie vibe. She would give him more than you ever could. You move out of her way and choose to sit in a chair instead.

“-was englazed.”

You furrow your brows at the end of the sentence and straighten your back. Something isn’t right, besides the fact that he’s been shot.

“Mikey? What’d you say?”

He’s slow to look at you, manages a slightly crooked smile, “I’m englazed!”

You half-heartedly smile at him and let him continue to babble with Alice and Olivia.

You leave the room, glancing both ways to find the nurses station, regretting that you didn’t take the time to look around when you had first come into his room. As you reach the station, you notice Olivia trailing behind you, heading to the same destination.

* * *

 

You sit by yourself, whatever makeup you had on now washed away roughly and ribbons at your cheeks from where you had scrubbed at your makeup so hard your nails had dug into your skin. The room is dim and you can hear chatter from around you, hushed whispers and stories retold. You don’t mind the noise, it’s good not to be completely alone with your thoughts. You did this. He’s like a cat. He’s got nine lives. Why didn’t you notice it earlier? He’s a fighter. You remember when he got shot in the shoulder? Pulled through it like it was nothing! You could have done more. That’s not the same. You’re a nurse for God’s sake! I’m trying to lighten the mood. You’ve seen plenty of stroke victims, before and after. You saw it in your own father. Your judgment was clouded here. He was in perfect health, your father was much frailer.

You follow blindly when William puts a hand over your shoulder, gently guiding you up and towards his room where Alice is already sitting at Mike’s side. You barely hear the words form from William, but you know what’s happened. Mike may still be alive in some small way, but his consciousness, everything that made him, is gone.

You bite your lip, trying your best to blink away tears. Mike has never been small, not even as a kid, but now he looks small, covered with hospital blankets and a tube shoved down his throat. The machines beeping suddenly becomes too much for you. You hear it four days out of the week in twelve-hour shifts and never has it bothered you like this.

Sobs beg to tear from your throat, but you stay strong, for William’s sake. He’s the one losing the most from this. He’s losing a child, and no parent should have to go through that, no matter how old their child may be. He grips at Olivia, who is in tears too. You rub William’s shoulder, watching Alice stroke Mike’s cheek.

You’re angry. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. He was going to take you out to dinner, you were going to work up the nerve to tell him how much you loved him, even if you now know about his secret fiancee. You had been dying to get it off your chest, to finally confess to him everything you feel, because he deserves that and you deserve some closure to move on. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened at dinner, but soon. Fate decided for you. You would have to move on, but without the closure you want.

Olivia comforts William leading him out to the hallway.

“Alice, do you,” your voice cracks and you finally feel tears roll down your cheeks, “Do you mind if I have a moment with him? Alone?”

She nods but looks apprehensive about leaving his side. You let her take her time, you would be the same way too.

“Hey, Mikey,” you didn’t expect your voice to sound so watery, “God, you’re so stupid, so fucking stupid. I can’t believe you.”

You smooth his hair back and graze your knuckle against his cheek softly as if you would disturb him somehow even though you know that he won’t respond. His skin feels wrong like it’s been replaced by wax or plastic.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna go to your funeral. It might be too much. I still have so much to say to you and I’d rather not have to say it to a gravestone or when you won’t be able to tell me how dumb I am, how you don’t feel the same. God, I wish you break my heart right now. I would love that instead of this.”

For a moment, you want to believe that you saw him move his hand, but you know he didn’t. He’s gone and he can’t come back, as far as medical science has come, this can’t be righted.

“This can’t be how it ends. It’s unfair to me, unfair to you,” your heart feels like it’s going to sink into your stomach, churning it until it no longer exists, “I would plead if I knew it would do any good, pray for you if I knew someone was listening.”

You wipe a tear from your cheek and sigh. You press your cheek against his chest and bring his hand to your hair, trying to take comfort in one last touch from him, even if it’s controlled by you. You want to keep this moment, but it’s too painful to preserve in your memory, being held in the arms of a man who would never wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments appreciated!


End file.
